Spiderweb

The traveler sat down upon the cool moss in the salvation of shade. After days of traveling on hot, dusty dirt roads the quiet forest welcomed him with enveloping comfort and peace. Yet despite these good tidings, the forest had a suspicious feeling.

Yes a feeling, a strange and suspicious feeling. The man felt as though once he walked around the next bend he would discover something out of place, something wrong. As though maybe it wasn’t even a forest at all, or was it that he wasn’t actually a man? Something deep within the wood messed with the traveler’s inner core, irking his sense of self into agitation. 

The branches lay heavy, as if supporting the weight of the sky upon their thick wax coated leaves. Their intricate ceiling cast playful specks of light on the moss laden ground below.

The traveler stood up as the golden specks began to dance, as the wind the stirred and whispered through the trees, and the sun slowly continued its decent. Glancing toward the setting sun the man began his routine search for the softest patch of ground to sleep on for the night. Sooner than would have seemed natural, as though impatient, the sun had set, and the moon had risen as the traveler rested beneath its pale light.

The moonlight. It shone through the gnarled twisted arms snaking its way to the earth forming a milky silken spider web. The man lay quietly, unknowingly vulnerable and helpless, already caught within its strands.
The shadows slid over the traveler’s body as he stirred in his sleep. What was that noise? No, not noise, music.

His eyes opened and curiously wandered, scrutinizing the trees. Most were old, although some young, all clustered together in the night breeze, as though whispering. As though singing. He heard the music echo softly through the forest again. Human voices, but not quite. There was something about them, something that the experienced and weathered traveler could not understand, but it was beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful, so much that it pained him.

He got to his feet, and listened. Where was coming from? What was it coming from?
The melody drifted toward him, slowly, but with purpose, as it carefully made its way across the silver web to the tiny, fragile human. The man deeply breathed in the mysterious song as it approached. It was so beautiful; it was so beautiful, and now seemed to be everywhere, as though the very air was singing. The traveler stepped back, placing his hand on the ancient whispering tree behind him.

“It’s too late,” spoke a low female voice.

The man jumped, ripping his hand off the tree, as the music slowly grew louder.
“Too late?” He asked, before flinching at his own rough, ugly voice that cut through the enrapturing melody surrounding him.

He was met with no answer, but the continuing music, rising louder and louder in volume, it grew denser, stronger, heavier.

The unfortunate victim cautiously placed his hand upon the rough bark of the wise old tree.

“Yes, too late. You have heard the song, and have drunk its melody.”

The man looked at the tree, straining to remain focused as the incredible music fought to recapture his complete attention. 

“I don’t, I, I don’t understand. You need to explain it to me, what is making this music? Who - what are you?” His voice was a whisper consisting of more thought than sound. But how could he interrupt the music, the awesome, glorious music surrounding him? Nothing should penetrate it, nothing. But he was confused, he wanted – no - he needed, to understand it.

“I was once a traveler like you, but have been trapped within the form of a tree. My voice is only reached through human touch, or between the other trapped souls from our roots merging deep beneath the ground.”

“But the music? It’s amazing, how? How can such sound exist?”

The air gave a playful chuckle, “But can’t you see?” asked the tree as the moon spun her web delicately across the dark bark of the conscious wood, “It is the trees and their souls, the earth, the wind, the moss, you are listening to the singing of the forest. And soon you will sing with us.”

“What? Why?” The traveler weakly gasped, barely able to listen as he became consumed by the sounds, the chords, melodies, harmonies, by the music that tightly wrapped around him, constricting. Was he breathing? He didn’t know.

“As we speak you are becoming one of us. You are too far gone for escape. Those chords aren’t chords, they’re ropes. That melody is iron bars, and the harmony, chains. The music has entered your body, your mind, your soul. You drank the poison, and now its venom spreads.”

The man cried out, tearing his hands off the old tree. Struggling against the music that clasped onto him, he stumbled through the terrible singing forest. But when a man has something inside of him, something deeply interwoven within his very self, it is inescapable. He felt the hauntingly beautiful notes saturate within his entirety until the previous traveler was completely consumed.




The moon slowly lifted her web off the ground to allow the sun room for his golden dancers; the web had served its purpose well, and she had successfully caught her prey.  For that night a new tree grew within the cool shade of the quiet, peaceful forest, and another voice unwilling joined the demonic choir of consumed souls.